


Then There's a Pair of Us

by NervousAsexual



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anyway here's Artie BSing his way out of getting caught, Episode: s02e07 The Night of the Poisonous Posey, Humor, I have a problem with how Artie just rolls over when they call him on the scar, he's an actor! he'll try to BS his way out of anything!, identity theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28757874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Summary: Ascot Sam is having a very bad day.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Then There's a Pair of Us

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hazard Pay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28601088) by [Celestial_Alignment](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestial_Alignment/pseuds/Celestial_Alignment). 



_I'm not late_ , he thinks, _just... stylishly on time_.

Yeah, that's the ticket.

It's been a comically long trail to get here. Train from New York was running woefully behind, he missed the stage out of Denver, his rented mule walked like it was approaching the glue factory, and now, having arrived at the Justice, Colorado funeral parlor the place is deserted. Nothing there but an open casket filled with lukewarm water and cheap beer and a forlorn looking wreath abandoned on a chair.

Well, that's too bad, but at least it gives him a chance to make a memorable entrance. He straightens his top hat, dusts off his jacket, gives the old tap shoes a quick clatter, and taps himself into the dining room.

At first it seems he's made an impression--every head in the place swivels toward him--and he ends with a flourish and a tip of the hat to Posey.

Then he notices two things. First, the faces around the table are woefully few in number. Evidently he is not the only one running late to this little summit. Second, Posey has an expression on her face. Most everybody would see it and not think twice. "Oh, that's just Posey. She always looks unamused." But Ascot Sam, as he liked to flatter himself, was not nobody and previous experience told him that the expression on her face indicated she was about ten seconds from introducing somebody to the wrong end of her poison ring.

"Ascot Sam," she says.

"Well, who else but?"

She folds her hands and looks down the table, and everybody else looks too. Down at the end of the table is a fellow in a pinstripe suit with a stupid mustache and about the ugliest dickey he's ever seen in his life. The guy shifts uneasily, looking from Ascot Sam to Posey to the table and back again.

"Heh," he says with a little sneer.

Well, that makes everything as clear as mud. "Who's the big guy with the little laugh, lady?"

Posey stretches her fingers and her poison ring glints in the lamplight. "He claims to be Ascot Sam."

Claims to be... why, what absolute nonsense! All they have to do is look at the mook to know that's not him! As if he'd wear pinstripes with that vest, or wear the dickey at all, or... This must be some kinda joke. That's probably it. Sergei must have put them up to it, the old devil. He turns to look at his friend but Sergei, slicing himself an apple with one of his many sharp knives, doesn't even smile.

"'Claims?'" the pinstripe man asks. "Now, Miss Posey, that word disturbs me a little bit more than somewhat."

The rest of the guys--there are people missing, it's just Brutus and Little Pinto and Sergei--turn back to Posey. She sighs and for just a moment an actual emotion breaks through her stonewall exterior. It's a shame. Irritation does not suit a lady like her.

"There a simple way to settle this." She shoves back her plate. "The real Ascot Sam was plugged in the shoulder some years back, so let us see the scar."

He's a little hurt that it has to come to this. Even if Posey doesn't know him that well, surely Sergei knows him well enough to tell the difference. He sheds the jacket and goes for the shirt and... and the other guy does too? _I suppose that's up to you, friend,_ he thinks, but it seems like once everybody sees that he doesn't have a...

"Begging your pardon, my lady," the guy in pinstripes says, and turns back his lapel to show a jagged scar on his shoulder.

Everybody looks at Pinstripes, and then they look back at Ascot Sam.

"What?" he demands.

Sergie, Brutus, and Posey don't say a word. Little Pinto just nods to himself and takes out a gun and sticks the end of the gun against the end of Ascot Sam's nose.

Alright, well, at least it's a straight-forward answer. "Hold your horses, hold your horses. Now, look here." He pulls his own shirt back to show them the _actual_ place where the _actual_ Ascot Sam _actually_ got plugged.

Little Pinto looked at him and then back at Pinstripe, and then once again at Posey. "They both have a..."

"That's a knife wound!" Ascot Sam cries. "Look at it, it's too long to be from a bullet!"

"For the love of... Sergei." Posey snaps her fingers to draw the Slovak's attention. "You and Ascot Sam are friends, no? Which one is which?"

_Good,_ he thinks, but Sergei slices off a piece of apple and gulps it down whole before he even bothers getting up, and now he saunters over like the very tsesarevich himself and looks him up and down like they haven't painted New York red every time he's been in the states.

Ascot Sam's hackles and ire are both raised to their absolute limit. "Sergei, if you don't..."

In the blink of an eye Little Pinto has the gun cocked, which, again, at least he's straightforward about his intentions. Sergei, meanwhile, goes back to this... this... this discount Ascot Sam and looks him over too. He picks at his teeth with a knife. He stares blankly into the distance. And then, when it seems he can dillydally no more, he shrugs and drops back into his seat.

Brutus groans loudly and Little Pinto rolls his eyes. Posey, however, looks perfectly calm, which of course means she's ready to commit serious bodily harm.

This little joke has gone on long enough. "What is that supposed to mean?" he demands, mimicking Sergei's shrug with all the sarcasm he can muster.

"I don't see a difference." Sergei pops another slice of apple into his mouth. "Is this one Ascot Sam, is that one Ascot Sam. How should I know this?"

"Fer the love of..." No, no, the gun's still pointed directly at his nose and he don't exactly need a new hole in the face. "You're telling me you don't remember me? Me, your best buddy in the States? You don't remember all the good times we had together? How about that night we went out and got so schnockered you fell in the river? And the Coast Guard had to fish you out and they threw you in jail and the only reason you're not rotting there now is my guys digging you out with garden spades?"

Sergei frowns.

"Hey!" says Pinstripe. "Where do you get off makin' up lies about my good friend Go-spo-dzin Sergei? Making him look like a dummy who falls in rivers. You remember, Sergei, when we went out and got schnockered and howled at the moon? Nobody fell in any river. We did egg the Pinkerton office, though." He laughs and laughs and laughs and makes a show of wiping away a tear. "Good times, my friend. Good times."

Out of the corner of his eye Ascot Sam sees Posey gently massaging her temples with her fingertips.

"Clearly one of them is lying," she says at last. "So which one is telling the truth, Sergei? Did you fall in the river or didn't you?"

"I have no memory of either of these things." Sergei shrugs. "But falling in a river, this does not sound like thing I would do."

That weaselly little Russki bastard. He's gonna stab him and strangle him and throw the body in the nearest river and then he's gonna pour oil on the river and set the oil on fire...

"Thank you," Posey says. "You've made this far more complicated than it needs to be, but thank you just the same." Without even looking at Ascot Sam she waves a hand dismissively to Little Pinto. "Take care of our guest, won't you?"

"I can find my own way out," he snaps. "I know when I'm not wanted."

"I'm quite sure the real Ascot Sam could do so, but you? You I do not trust." Posey eyes him for a minute and he'd come unglued if there wasn't a gun in his face. Not trust him? He shouldn't have ever trusted her, or Sergei, or any of these jerks. "Little Pinto, I have an idea. Why don't you see if our friend Mr. James West would like company?"

Little Pinto shrugs. "If that's what you want, Miss Posey."

"It hardly matters what I want. It's Mr. West who may want to see his friend one last time."

"Ah," said Brutus, eyes lighting up. "I remember now. You think this is... the name escapes me... Mr. West's companion."

"Gordon," says Pinstripe, and if looks could kill Ascot Sam would have murdered that guy so hard there'd have been nothing left but a greasy spot on the carpet. Of course. He's always heard that where you find West you usually find Gordon, and if the half that fights is here it's a sure bet the half that dresses up in costumes isn't far away. Everybody else looks too, and Pinstripe real quickly adds, "Another fellow I'd like to plug full of holes. I don't suppose you'd consider...?"

But Posey shakes her head and Pinstripe shakes his back before settling back in the chair like it's _his_ chair and not Ascot Sam's.

"Everyone say goodbye to Mr. Gordon," Posey says, and as Little Pinto starts to march him out of the room Brutus and Sergei and Pinstripe all bid him farewell, the scum. He turns around to get in one last angry glare at the big guy in the ugly suit and finds Pinstripe grinning at him, hat doffed and pressed to his chest. The ugly bastard gives him a wink and strokes that _obviously fake_ mustache before he gives a jaunty salute and turns back to the others.

_Bastard,_ Ascot Sam thinks. _A bastard and his idiot friends._ He couldn't believe the supposed greatest criminals in the world were fooled by that cheap pasted-on mustache.

Little Pinto gives him a shove toward the kitchen and he stumbles along, thinking the most murderous thoughts he's ever thought. As they're moving past Sergei Ascot Sam grabs a carving knife right out of the jerk's hand--he's not even a little proficient at fighting with a knife but who cares--and as Little Pinto's gun comes swinging down against his head he catches sight of himself reflected in the blade. It can't be true. It can't be.

_My mustache was ugly the whole time._

He has a split second to be angry about this before the world goes dark.


End file.
